Frodo Wants to be a Millionaire!
by ElfWarrior
Summary: Frodo's on the millionaire show, while Aragorn & Arwen watch at home. Legolas, Galadriel, and Gimli all show up or make cameos. (Once I post chapter 2, Drizzt fans may want to read this...) Rated for 1 minor cuss word.
1. WHO'S on TV?

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in this story, except the second debater (who is me).

Aragorn sighed heavily. "It figures," he muttered. "I've been crowned King. I've won the war. I've put all this time and effort into making the world a better place. I can afford as many channels as I want. And there's _still_ nothing on!" He pointed the remote control at the television set and clicked a button.

A tall brown-haired fourteen-year-old girl in a pinstriped skirt and nice black sports coat said, "This resolution seems reasonable—imprint the bullets, trace the bullets to guns, trace the guns to murderers, eventually guns fall out of use, and the world is transformed into a rainbow-filled utopia where cuddly animals frolic and NOBODY IS EVER SHUT OUT OF CONGRESSIONAL ROUNDS!"

"Nothing—"

Another teenage girl, this one with blue hair, multicolored glasses, and a blue and black tiny-checked suit shouted, "Miramonte is EVIL and I hope any Miramonte people reading—I mean hearing this realize the fact that their debate team CHEATS and robs perfectly good senators and representatives and even IE competitors of deserved awards—"

"Crazy Analy High School debaters," the King growled. "Both of them." He changed the channel.

"How would YOU like to buy a—"

"Nothing—"

"Crikey, th' li'il bugger's got me boy th' leg, maite!"

"Nothing—"

"Hello, Newman."

"I hate _Seinfeld_, so nothing—"

"Puff, the magic dragon—"

"That's just wrong." Aragorn pounded the remote on the sofa arm and pushed another button.

"Hi, I'm Chef Tony—"

"Nope."

"WHEEL—OF—FORTUNE!"

"No…"

"Oh, Barney, I love you!"

"NO!"

Aragorn frantically clicked the channel-button multiple times, stopping at last to find the first Analy debater finishing her speech. "The saying is true: guns don't kill people, people kill people. And as long as people keep killing people, our rabbit-infested utopia will just have to wait."

"Damn." Aragorn avoided the other debater by flipping back to see what channels he'd missed in his mad escape from Barney. The blue-haired girl did not take kindly to this, and decided to mess with Aragorn's life more rather than getting right to the point (ha, ha) of the story.

The poor semi-former-ranger went through every children's show imaginable, all the obnoxious game shows that he so loathed, a golf tournament, a curling exhibition, a nature program called _The Secret Life of Dead Slugs_, and fifteen sitcoms before Arwen, sans makeup, jewelry, and shoes, walked wearily in. "Hey, honey." The tired queen flopped onto the sofa next to her husband. "Anything on?"

"Not a—wait, was that Frodo?!" Aragorn hastily switched the channel back.

"It _is_!" Arwen cried. "What's he doing?"

"Frodo! Welcome to the show, Frodo!" Regis said with a game show host grin.

Frodo smiled back sweetly. "Thanks, Mr. Regis."

"Ohmivalar, I can't believe it!" Arwen squealed. "Frodo wants to be a millionaire!"

"What, Ringbearer and a modest gathering of fangirls were not enough?" Aragorn grumbled.

Arwen kissed his cheek. "Don't worry, dear. I think you have more fangirls than him."

"That's _not_ what I'm worried about."

"So, Frodo, are you ready for your first question, Frodo?" Regis asked.

Frodo nodded.

"Then let's begin! First question: Who exactly _is_ Finarfin? Is the answer a) Galadriel's father, b) Legolas' father, c) Richard Nixon, or d) a Silmaril?"

Frodo paused. Then, "What's a Silmaril?"

Arwen burst out laughing. "Come on, Frodo! A! It's a!"

Regis grinned again. "Well, Frodo, do you want to use a lifeline, Frodo?"

"No—wait, I only read _The Hobbit_ and the trilogy—let's see. It can't be b, Thranduil is Legolas' daddy. C seems unlikely, and I'm getting a psychic message from Arwen that says a…"

Aragorn had never seen his wife look so surprised. Frodo winked at the screen and said, "A. I'm going with a."

"Frodo, is that your final answer, Frodo?"

"Yep."

"Wow, Frodo, you got it right, Frodo! Though I think e, an obnoxious pissant, would have worked to." He grinned his game show host grin.

Arwen scowled. "Bastard. How dare he insult my great-grandfather like that? He must be thinking of Fëanor."

"Fëanor drives me crazy!" Aragorn agreed. "And I only know him in the history books!"

Meanwhile, Regis was proposing Frodo's next question. "Whose hair did Fëanor have in mind when he crafted the Silmarils? Was it a) Celebrían's, b) Arwen's, c) Lúthien's, or d) Galadriel's?"

Frodo frowned. "Can we get out of that family?"

Regis laughed a game show host laugh. "Good one, Frodo! Use a lifeline! Who ya gonna call?"

"If he calls us, say a," Arwen giggled to Aragorn.

"No, b," he disagreed with the smile that made so many older fangirls swoon.

"I'll call Galadriel," Frodo decided. "If it's her hair, she'll know."

"Okee-day." Regis pushed a button (déjà vu?) and waited.

A telephone rang. And rang. And rang. And rang. Finally, they heard Galadriel say, "Hi, you've reached the voicemail of Galadriel, Lady of Light. I'm scrying or something right now, and as such I don't want to talk to you, so leave me a message and I'll get back to you later. Maybe."

Regis and Frodo both froze. "Wha—that's never happened before," the host muttered. "That stupid elf bitch!"

"Don't you darrrrre insult the Lady Galadrrrriel!" a gruff voice hollered from the audience. "I'll kill ye!"

"Galadriel is the most beautiful being ever to grace the universe," Regis amended hastily. "Frodo, call someone else, Frodo."

"Um…well, no one knows his elf history like Legolas. I'll call him."

"Okee-day." Regis pushed yet another button.

This time, the phone was picked up on the first ring. "Hello, you've reached the residence of Legolas Greenleaf," a cultured voice informed Frodo. "How may I help you?"

"Hey, Legolas, it's Frodo!"

"I'm sorry, sir, this is the good prince's butler. Would you like me to transfer you?"

"Uh, yeah, that'd be great." The poor hobbit seemed rather baffled.

There was a short wait, punctuated by elven voices raised in a chorus of _Kum-bye-ya_. Aragorn shuddered. "Is out hold music anything like this?" he asked Arwen.

"No, I think ours plays the soundtracks to _Fellowship _and_ Two Towers_ on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and plays the Talking Heads on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays."

"What's on Sundays?"

"Enya."

Heh heh…reviews, PLEASE?!


	2. Legolas to the Rescue

Disclaimer: Still not mine…

A/N: Wow, I got reviews! I'd forgotten the feeling…anyway, here goes. I was originally just going to make this one chapter, then it got long, so I was going to make it two chapters, then everyone actually liked it, so now it's at least three.

Legolas finally picked up the phone, ending the chorus with a painful squawk. "Yo."

"Legolas?"

"Frodo, my man! What's up?"

"I'm on the millionaire show! Quick, I—"

Regis' grin was a bit stretched this time. "Frodo, hold on. I get to do this part, Frodo. When I say 'go', ask him the questionGO!"

Frodo whipped off the question. "Hurry, Legolas! What's the answer?"

"Chill, dude, it's Galadriel! Don't you know anything? I'll have to send you _Unfinished Tales_ and _The Silmarilion_ for your next birthday—"

The line went dead. Regis grinned. It was starting to get a little frightening. "Time's up, Frodo! Do you think you'll take his advice, Frodo?"

"Sure. Why the hell not?"

Regis laughed. It was decidedly scary. "Frodo, it that your final answer, Frodo?"

"Yes."

"Hooray!"

Aragorn shook his head. "Legolas needs to learn how to have more fun," he complained.

"Well, with all those fangirls thirsting for blood…" Arwen pointed out.

The King of Gondor smiled lewdly. "It's not his _blood_ they're thirsting for," he observed.

Arwen slapped his shoulder and giggled. "You have a foul mind!"

Aragorn shrugged. "Maybe Legolas should get married. That would take care of most of the fangirls, and it might improve his temper, too."

"Does his temper need improving?" she wondered.

"You should've seen him when we were filming," Aragorn said fearfully. "And during the events themselves—oooh, there's a lot the general public doesn't know about him, and I don't just mean the surfer-talk."

"I though that was Celeborn."

"Legolas picked it up partly from the Lórien elves and partly from the surfers in L.A., especially a group of people with weird names, which is where the Lórien elves picked it up."

Arwen nodded. "I see. What kind of names did those people have?"

"Let's see. There was Dirk and Duck and Weetzie and My Secret Agent Lover Man—"

_"What?"_

"No, that was really his name! And there was Witch Baby and Cherokee and Angel Juan and Raphael and Valentine and Ping."

"Wow. Oh, look at poor Frodo's question this time!"

"Legolas is the prince of a) Mirkwood, b) Greenwood, c) Eryn Lasgalen, or d) all of the above. Or e) Richard Nixon."

Frodo hesitated. "Nixon? Ummm...I hope that was a joke. Anyway, this must've been in the appendices, because Legolas once complained to that they never mentioned him in _Unfinished Tales_. Wait, his dad is Thranduil, who features in _The Hobbit_ as the King of Mirkwood! That must be it!"

"Frodo, are you sure, Frodo?" Regis' habit of saying Frodo's name so often was getting remarkably annoying.

"Um…no. Can I call Legolas again?"

"Sorry, Frodo, but no, Frodo. You can call someone else…"

"No, I think it's—wait."

Arwen was bouncing up and down. "It's d! Pick d, you stupid hobbit!"

"Arwen's giving me another psychic message."

The elf-princess/queen was too worked up to care about Frodo's sudden sensitivity to the psychic telephone networks of the Fair Folk. "It's d! Mirkwood was called Greenwood, and after the defeat of Sauron, Thranduil and Celeborn renamed it Eryn Lasgalen!"

"She's thinking d," Frodo informed Regis. "I agree. And yeah, that's my final answer."

"Frodo, it that your final answer, Frodo?"

"I just said that."

"Well, Frodo, you've won, Frodo!"

Frodo's expression was so comically confused that Aragorn nearly died laughing. "Is that it?" the hobbit asked.

Regis grinned. The rabid criminally insane rabbits who were high on illegal substances ran away from him. "No, just one more."

"Bring it on," Frodo said in his most Aragorn-like fashion.

"What is the race of the semi-famous fantasy character who shares my name? Is it a) halfling, b) elf, c) Richard Nixon, or d) dwarf?"

There was a pause, both at the millionaire-show-place and in the palace of Gondor. "What?" Aragorn said finally.

"I have no idea what he's talking about," Arwen announced. "And what is it with that man and Richard Nixon? The guy was a crook."

Meanwhile, in Ithilien, Legolas and a dear friend of his who had crossed worlds, authors, and series to visit him had turned on the TV to watch Frodo. Legolas' friend began to laugh himself sick when he saw the question. Legolas gave him an odd look. _Maybe having that awful name has finally cracked him_, he thought. The elf prince glanced out the window past the armed guards and barbed wire fence. _Then again, it could be those evil fangirls after both of us…_ "Drizzt, dude, what's wrong?"

Drizzt, the just-as-hot-as-Legolas-but-mostly-unappreciated-due-to-lack-of-film-and-also-to-really-really-really-ridiculously-hideous-cover-art good dark elf (and champion hotelfguy), wiped his lovely streaming violet eyes and gasped for breath. "Regis is _my_ sidekick!" he explained. "One of them, anyway, after the token girl and the token dwarf and that obnoxious muscle-bound idiot Wulfgar and my pretty kitty Guenhwyvar…"

Guenhwyvar, a six-hundred-pound magical black panther, purred and placed her head on Drizzt's shoulder. He scratched her behind the ears and continued. "Anyway, Regis is my halfling pal. I hope Frodo can call you again this time."

"Maybe he'll call you. He seemed rather fond of you when I had that fantasy-heroes party."

Drizzt smiled at the memory. Now _that_ had been fun, and delightfully amusing. Sabriel dancing with Elaith, Alanna boogieing with Vanyel, Alberich swinging with Cathlin, Arilyn and Kerowyn swapping war stories, Eugenides and Attolia making out in the corner, Numair, Merlin, Gandalf, Lirael, Darkwind, and Raistlin stringing Harry Potter and Sparrowhawk/Gen for "not being real wizards!", Matthias falling into the punch bowl, Daine chatting up Guenhwyvar before having a very long conversation about the delights of living among wolves with Firekeeper, Kazul and Varien/Akhor complaining about the difficulties of being King of the Dragons, Lanen and Onua talking horses, Sameth and Samwise complaining about their names and how one author had copied the other, Gawain and Sparhawk discussing knighthood, Selenay, Thayet, Cimorene, Ehlana, and Guinevere debating queenship, Maurynna Kyrissaean and Morgan le Fey whining to each other about how stupid most people were about different-colored eyes, Bantam, Elspeth, George Cooper, Savil, Hawk & Fisher, and every dwarf on the premises getting drunk (or at least, Bantam tried to get drunk, but since he physically couldn't, he just drank a lot), Stefen, Talia, and Danilo singing between the drunkards' songs, while Drizzt himself discussed methods of escaping fangirls with the other hotelfguys: Legolas, Foxfire, Haldir (book not movie), Kelsenellenelvial (Kelsey), Elladan, Elrohir...

It had been fun.

"I think I want to call my good pal Drizzt Do'Urden. No one knows who he is since he's not in _Lord of the Rings_, but he reads all these great books and—"

"Okee-day." Regis pressed the button and Drizzt's cell phone rang.

The drow answered quickly. "It's a, Frodo! He's my sidekick! Pick a!"

"Hey!" Regis protested. "That's not how it's supposed to work."

"OK, Drizzt! Thanks!"

The line went dead on both sides. Frodo smiled at Regis and said. "My final answer is a."

"Frodo, is that your final answer, Frodo?"

"Yes!"

"Good."

Before anyone could cheer or boo, Regis was on to the next question.


End file.
